UC-NRLF 


Sb    711 


GIFT   OF 


STILL  THE  GIRL  LISTENED;  THE  NOTES  FLOWED  ON 


STELLA 


BY 
NATHANIEL    GORDON 


Copyright,  1910,  by  Nathaniel  Gordon 


If  10 


Co  Stceet  <£J;atitY 


239195 


Still  the  girl  listened;  the  notes  flowed  on  .     Frontispiece 

Thus   mounted    and    guarded,    the    highland 
maiden   roamed    the    wild,  picturesque 

glades  at  will Page  18 

Little  orphans  clustered  around  Stella      .     .  22 

"There  is  father  watching  for  me!"  ...  "      28 

"Beautiful!    beautiful!"   exclaimed    the   host  "      32 

At  her  mother's  grave 36 

To  the  rescue "42 

Out  into  snow  and  each  other's  arms     .     .  "48 

"I  could  not  leave  you  longer  alone"     .     .  "54 


tella 


[N  the  sunny  shelter  of  a  range 
of  hills  that  lift  their  crests  into 
mountains  there  lies  a  wide 
farm. 

Once  its  owner  was  a  middle-aged   man. 

Father   and   grandfather  had   dwelt   there 

before  him,  and  by  their  hands  had  been  set 

the  long  rows  of  saplings  whose  branches  now 

overarched  avenues  of  shade. 

Perchance  a  heart's  idol,  false  to  her  faith, 
had  embittered  the  youth  of  this  holder  of 
lands;  for  not  until  the  noonday  of  life,  after 
wanderings  various  beyond  the  seas,  had  he 
returned  to  make  abode  on  the  broad  acres  of 

[13] 


STELLA 

childhood  and  chosen  a  helpmate  to  grace  his 
home.  The  bride  was  an  orphan  of  gentle 
birth,  bringing  no  portion  save  a  mother's  few 
gems,  yet  a  dream  of  loveliness.  But  when, 
after  the  long,  troublous  hours  of  a  certain 
night,  to  the  sylph-like  young  consort  her 
first-born  had  come,  the  vigilant  old  doctor, 
who  bent  anxiously  over  her,  shook  his  head 
mournfully. 

The  curtain  had  been  brushed  aside  from 
the  window  and  the  light  of  a  morning  star 
stole  in.  Did  the  sufferer  think  of  that  other 
star  that  once  "stood  over"  the  cradle  of  a 
babe  ?  For,  like  the  touch  of  an  angel,  a 
radiance  suffused  her  languorous  features,  and 
she  whispered: 

"Call  her  Stella." 

Then,  with  the  little  one's  breath  on  her 
bosom,  the  mother  slept. 

Hours  sped  by,  the  star  again  shone  down — 

[14] 


STELLA 

the   mother   still   slept.      She   had   gone — to 
shine ;  perhaps  as  a  star. 

But  Stella  lived.  Day  by  day  the  child  still 
thrived.  No  illness  overtook  her,  no  blight 
marred  her  bloom.  The  seasons  chased  each 
other  away.  A  merry,  rosy,  romping  little 
maiden  was  Stella.  She  frisked  with  the 
lambs  and  carolled  with  the  birds;  and  when, 
at  the  close  of  a  long  summer  day,  the  little 
girl  would  meander  home  from  the  fields, 
crowned  with  a  chaplet  of  gay  wild  flowers, 
and  climb  upon  her  father's  knee,  the  fond 
parent  would  listen  delighted,  as,  flushed  with 
health,  his  darling  rehearsed  her  list  of  ad 
ventures,  until  at  the  very  height  of  the  prattle 
her  eager  eyes  would  suddenly  droop,  a 
shower  of  locks  fall  on  his  arm,  and  Inno 
cence  slept.  Then  the  devout  father  would 
bow  his  head  above  the  slumbering  child  and 
breathe  thanks  to  God  for  this  little  star. 

[15] 


STELLA 

The  years  glided  by.  The  large  part  of 
these  years  Stella  had  spent  on  the  farm;  for 
she  dearly  loved  the  old  homestead  sleeping 
so  peacefully  amidst  the  hills.  Besides,  the 
girl  knew  how  dependent  her  father's  happi 
ness  was  upon  her  presence.  Sometimes  he 
would  urge  her  to  cross  the  ocean  and  visit 
abroad ;  for,  as  the  fruit  of  earlier  investments 
in  distant  climes,  this  retired  old  gentleman 
possessed  liberal  means.  But  not  for  a  mo 
ment  was  Stella  deceived  by  the  parent's 
feigned  content  with  the  picture  of  his  off 
spring  touring  afar.  Ready  though  he  was  to 
make  any  sacrifice  for  her  sake,  the  daughter 
well  knew  how  grievous  a  trial  her  absence 
would  bring  him. 

"It  would  break  my  heart  to  say  farewell; 
I  am  nowhere  so  happy  as  here,"  she  would 
say.  "There  is  no  place  like  home,  no  com 
pany  for  me  like  yours,  father,  dear,"  and 

[16J 


STELLA 

Stella  would  caress  the  parent  beloved,  im 
printing  impetuous  kisses,  first  on  one  cheek, 
then  on  the  other,  just  as  she  always  had  done 
since  a  little  girl  she  sat  on  his  knee,  her  lap 
strewn  with  flowers. 

The  owner  of  this  highland  farm  was  an 
ardent  admirer  of  fine  animals.  His  daughter 
inherited  the  taste.  Since  the  first  time  she 
knelt  before  the  glowing  fire,  warming  a  wee, 
chilled,  and  motherless  lamb,  some  gentle 
creature  had  been  always  near  her. 

On  her  fifteenth  birthday  her  father  had 
presented  Stella  with  a  dainty  foal  born  that 
same  morning  on  the  farm  and  of  famous 
ancestry.  Vastly  pleased  with  the  high-bred 
pet,  Stella  might  have  been  seen  several  times 
daily  tripping  down  through  the  pasture  to 
regale  the  infant  with  morsels  of  sweets.  The 
colt,  increasing  in  size  and  spirit,  had  dis 
played  strong  affection  for  her  young  mistress. 

[17] 


STELLA 

Now  well-grown,  the  fleet,  mettlesome  crea 
ture,  Bess  by  name,  manifested  dislike  to  any 
other  rider.  Under  her  mistress's  rein  only 
was  she  docile. 

Another  favorite,  a  St.  Bernard  dog,  invari 
ably  attended  Stella  on  her  rides  and  rambles. 
Thus  mounted  and  guarded,  the  highland 
maiden  roamed  the  wild,  picturesque  glades 
at  will.  The  exercise  gave  health  to  her  body, 
with  roses  the  fresh  breeze  mantled  her  cheeks, 
while  ever  dearer  grew  the  proud  paintings  the 
hand  of  Nature  hung  in  the  mountain  galleries 
overlooking  her  home. 

Not  far  from  the  farm,  in  a  vale  among 
the  sheltering  hills,  rose  a  queenly  chapel, 
the  memorial  to  the  early  departed  mother, 
erected  by  the  father  forlorn.  The  pastor  had 
joined  in  wedlock  the  father  and  the  youth 
ful  mother,  had  baptized  the  daughter,  and 
now  rarely  missed  from  his  congregation 

[18] 


THUS  MOUNTED  AND  GUARDED,  THE  HIGHLAND  MAIDEN 
ROAMED  THE  WILD,  PICTURESQUE  GLADES  AT  WILL 


STELLA 

Stella's  modest  face  on  Sunday  morning. 
Childless  himself,  the  good  man  had  taken 
to  his  heart  this  motherless  lamb,  permitting 
her,  when  just  budding  in  her  teens,  the  free 
dom  of  his  library,  directing  her  studies,  and 
even  devoting  a  few  leisure  moments  to  in 
structing  her  in  Latin.  Hours  the  privileged 
pupil,  insensible  of  the  lapse  of  time,  had 
whiled  away  among  the  shelves. 

"Store  your  mind;  read  history,  child," 
the  pastor  had  been  wont  in  earlier  years  to 
say,  placing  a  ponderous  tome  in  his  favor 
ite's  small  hands.  Stella  would  bravely  grasp 
the  volume,  bury  her  face  in  its  wide  leaves, 
and  studiously  follow  the  long  lines  with  her 
finger,  until  her  preceptor's  attention  was  ab 
sorbed  by  his  text,  when  she  would  softly  sub 
stitute  for  it  some  book  of  romance,  laughing 
gleefully  an  hour  later,  as  the  grave  man  awoke 
from  his  reverie  and  discovered  the  deceit. 

[19] 


STELLA 

In  all  the  township  no  one  was  so  conspic 
uous  in  benevolence  and  good  works  as  this 
zealous  pastor.  Familiar  with  the  scattered 
dwellings,  he  knew  each  family  by  name,  and 
was  a  constant  visitor  of  the  sick  and  the  dis 
tressed.  As  the  pastor  rode  about  intent  on 
these  errands,  Stella  was  often  his  companion. 
Her  acquaintance  thus  extended  to  a  number 
of  the  poor,  and  the  girl  had  fallen  into  the 
habit  of  making  frequent  calls,  unaccom 
panied,  upon  those  to  whom  in  this  way  she 
had  become  endeared  and  to  whom  her 
presence  was  always  grateful.  Now  it  had 
come  about  that  a  babe  could  hardly  be  born 
within  miles  but  Stella  must  be  early  at  the 
scene,  to  bend  over  the  cradle  and  lift  the  tiny 
hand  and  peep  into  the  wondering  eyes;  and 
when  sometimes  in  the  home  of  lowliness  a 
little  innocent  closed  its  eyes  forever,  Stella 
perhaps  would  be  the  only  mourner  to  weep 

[20]    ' 


STELLA 

with  the  weeping  mother,  and  with  her  to 
follow  the  plain  casket  to  its  resting-place, 
dropping  tears  with  flowers  on  the  grave. 

One  evening  Stella  was  riding  near  the 
chapel,  when,  through  the  forest  aisles,  majes 
tic  strains  of  the  organ  were  wafted  to  her  ear. 
Drawing  nearer,  the  girl  reined  in  her  horse 
and  listened.  Sweetly  the  organ  lifted  up  its 
voice  from  the  sylvan  dell  in  which  it  reposed. 
Stella  had  not  heard  such  notes  before.  "  Some 
stranger  visiting  the  chapel,"  she  mused. 
"Like  one  inspired,  he  plays." 

Still  the  girl  listened;  the  notes  flowed  on, 
growing  richer,  grander,  and  more  transport 
ing,  as  they  rolled  upward  and  drifted  away. 
The  music  ceased.  In  a  moment  a  young 
man  appeared  at  the  chapel  door.  A  slender 
riding- whip  rose  and  fell.  The  rapt  listener 
was  speeding  homeward. 

At  church  on  the  following  Sunday,  with 


STELLA 

surprised  delight  Stella  recognized  in  the 
unwonted  melody  of  the  organ's  strains,  the 
same  master  hands  on  the  keys  of  the  instru 
ment,  and  later  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  same 
young  man.  The  congregation  was  charmed. 
But  this  Sunday,  the  next,  and  others  that 
followed  threw  little  light  on  the  organist. 
Save  that  his  name  was  Ralph,  even  the 
pastor  knew  little  concerning  him.  But  it 
was  natural  to  feel  an  interest  in  one,  how 
ever  retiring,  at  whose  appeal  the  slumbering 
organ  became  a  creature  full  of  life,  and 
soared  and  sighed  with  solemn  sweetness. 
Stella  frequently  found  her  thoughts  wander 
ing  to  the  stranger. 

It  chanced  that  under  the  guardianship 
of  the  chapel  was  an  orphans'  home,  where 
Stella's  young  mother  had  passed  her  child 
hood  days.  Stella  had  formed  the  habit  of 
visiting  it  on  Sunday  afternoon,  to  read  and 

[22] 


LITTLE  ORPHANS  CLUSTERED  AROUND  STELLA 


STELLA 

talk  to  a  class  of  children.  At  this  home 
the  pastor  had  arranged  one  Sunday  for  a 
devotional  service.  He  had  invited  the  organ 
ist  to  attend.  Accordingly,  as  the  tranquil 
summer  afternoon  waned  and  the  hour  ap 
pointed  for  the  service  drew  nigh,  a  tall  form 
wended  its  way  along  the  woodland  path  that 
led  to  the  home.  On  the  greensward  sur 
rounding  the  children's  building,  in  an  arbor 
fanned  by  a  fragrant  breeze,  a  young  teacher 
had  gathered  her  class.  Ralph  saw  them 
and  thought  it  a  pleasing  picture — the  group 
of  little  orphans  clustered  around  Stella,  as 
beneath  the  sighing  shade  trees  she  sat, 
dressed  in  simple  white. 

The  young  man  passing  inquired  the  en 
trance  to  the  home. 

"If  you  have  come  to  attend  the  children's 
service,"  replied  Stella,  "we  may  all  go  in 
together.  It  is  time." 


STELLA 

So,  followed  by  the  little  ones  and  Ralph, 
the  girl  led  the  way  to  a  room  full  of  children, 
where  the  pastor  and  others  were  already 
waiting. 

At  the  close  of  the  exercises,  as  Ralph  was 
about  taking  his  leave,  the  pastor  beckoned 
Stella,  and  said  to  the  organist: 

"Permit  me  to  introduce  you  to  a  young 
friend  whom  I  might  almost  call  daughter,  so 
dear  have  been  our  relations." 

"I  am  glad  to  meet  one,"  said  Stella, 
"whose  music  has  often  thrilled  me.  It  must 
be  a  supreme  satisfaction  to  perform  so  bril 
liantly.  We  are  highly  favored." 

"I  thank  you  for  your  compliment,"  re 
turned  Ralph,  "but  you  overrate  my  ability 
to  please,  and  as  I  make  music  for  recom 
pense,  I  hardly  earn  gratitude." 

"Delight  of  that  kind,"  said  Stella,  "can 
not  be  repaid  in  dollars  and  cents ;  but  I  fancy 

[24] 


STELLA 

that  your  best  reward  lies  in  the  love  of  your 
art,  for  no  one  could  impart  such  expression 
to  music  whose  soul  was  not  in  it." 

"I  admit  that  music  is  my  sweetest  solace, 
my  soothing  balm  in  the  troubles  of  life,"  said 
Ralph. 

"Perhaps,"  said  the  pastor,  addressing  the 
organist,  "you  will  accompany  my  young 
friend  as  far  as  her  home.  She  is  without  her 
horse  to-day." 

"I  hesitate  to  become  so  much  of  a  burden," 
interposed  Stella;  "besides,  I  have  a  staunch 
old  friend  in  waiting  who  will  afford  me  ample 
protection." 

"Hero!"  she  called. 

As  the  huge  animal  bounded  into  the  room 
and  laid  his  head  on  his  mistress's  lap,  Stella 
turned  to  Ralph  and  asked: 

"  Do  you  not  admire  my  dog  ?  " 

"He  is  indeed  a  superb  fellow.  What  a  noble 

[25] 


STELLA 

head!"  was  the  answer.  "But  if  you  will 
allow  me,  I  shall  be  glad  to  share  his  escort, 
for  the  afternoon  is  perfect,  and  nothing 
could  be  more  inviting  than  a  little  stroll. 
To  say  the  truth,  I  feel  a  trifle  lonely  these 
quiet  days." 

"I  can  easily  think  so,"  said  Stella.  "Your 
company  will  be  appreciated.  I  usually  come  on 
horseback,  but  my  pet  had  lost  a  shoe  to-day 
and  I  disliked  riding  her  over  the  rough  road." 

"You  are  fond  of  that  exercise,"  observed 
Ralph,  as  they  started  on  their  walk.  "I 
have  often  seen  you  galloping  by." 

"I  have  ridden  since  a  child,"  said  Stella. 
"Bess  is  like  a  cradle.  I  am  never  ill,  and 
father  says  I  owe  my  good  health  to  horse 
back  riding.  A  canter  through  the  woods 
is  so  refreshing,  when  the  dew  sparkles  on 
the  leaves,  or  in  the  cool  of  the  evening. 
You  must  accompany  me  some  day." 

[26] 


STELLA 

"It  would  be  tempting,"  said  Ralph,  "but 
I  seldom  indulge  in  recreation  of  that  kind. 
I  have  neither  the  means  nor,  to  be  frank, 
the  inclination.  My  life  of  late  has  been 
too  blue." 

"That  will  never  do,"  said  Stella.  "The 
blue  of  life  should  be  in  the  sky.  And  yet," 
she  added,  "it  is  easy  for  me  to  say  so,  whose 
life  has  been  a  song.  I  know  that  there  are 
those  who  in  all  the  year  enjoy  less  of  happi 
ness  than  I  have  had  in  a  fleeting  day.  But 
where  is  your  home?" 

"I  have  no  home,"  said  Ralph. 

"In  a  country  neighborhood  like  this," 
said  Stella,  "everyone's  affairs  are  everyone 
else's.  May  I  ask  if  it  is  true  that  you  write 
songs?" 

"I  have  written  songs,"  answered  Ralph. 

"I  should  like  to  see  them,"  said  Stella. 
"Do  you  compose  the  music?" 

[27] 


STELLA 

"I  do,"  was  the  reply.  "Music  is  my  con 
soler.  I  lose  myself  in  it,  and  for  a  time  forget 
my  disappointments." 

Stella  looked  up  at  her  companion.  It  was 
her  impulse  to  ask  more,  but  she  refrained. 

They  followed  the  winding  lane  until  a 
sudden  bend  brought  into  view  Stella's  home. 
A  spacious  old  mansion  with  ivied  veranda,  it 
stood,  as  it  were,  in  a  sea  of  green. 

"How  I  love  my  home!"  murmured  Stella. 
"Do  you  not  think  it  pretty?" 

The  shadows  were  lengthened  on  the  stretch 
of  velvet  lawn,  when  across  it  the  girl  espied 
a  familiar  figure  seated  on  the  porch.  Her 
eyes  glistened. 

"There  is  father  watching  for  me!"  she 
exclaimed.  "He  is  never  quite  at  ease  when 
night  falls,  if  I  am  away." 

At  the  threshold  a  courtly  old  gentleman 
rose  to  greet  them. 

[28] 


"THERE  is  FATHER  WATCHING  FOR  ME  !" 


STELLA 

"Well,  well,  Stella!"  were  his  half-chiding 
words.  "  I  thought  you  had  forgotten  me  to 
night.  It  is  an  hour  after  tea-time." 

"Dear  father!"  cried  Stella,  with  a  happy 
laugh  and  a  warm  kiss.  "You  know  I  could 
not  do  that.  We  had  a  special  service  this 
afternoon,  and  I  have  had  a  charming  walk 
home  with  most  entertaining  company." 

The  father  extended  his  hand  to  Ralph. 

"I  thank  you  for  your  courtesy,"  he  said. 
"You  must  sit  with  us  at  tea." 

"You  are  hospitable,"  returned  Ralph. 
"But  I  have  been  more  than  compensated 
for  what  you  call  my  courtesy  and  what  I 
deem  a  privilege." 

"I  did  not  suspect  you  of  being  so  gallant," 
said  Stella  graciously  to  her  guest.  "But  of 
course  you  will  stay  to  tea;  that  is,  if  you  will 
take  us  as  you  find  us.  All  our  friends  do 
that.  To  such  we  keep  open  house." 

[29] 


STELLA 

They  drew  around  the  old-fashioned  mahog 
any  board.  Presently  the  white-haired  man 
grew  dreamy. 

"This  particular  hour — the  Sunday  sunset 
hour —  "  said  he,  "has  always  seemed  dif 
ferent  from  any  other.  It  is  ever  quiet  here, 
but  to  me  a  sacred  hush  hallows  the  close  of 
this  holy  day.  It  awrakens  remembrances. 
Sometimes  in  the  twilight's  stillness  I  hear 
voices — voices  of  those  who  used  to  sit  here, 
at  the  same  table,  in  these  very  chairs.  If  all 
the  loved  ones  with  whom  I  have  shared  this 
antique  board  were  present  now,  how  blissful 
it  would  be!  Memories!  They  come  to  me. 
I  recall  even  a  Sunday  long  ago,  when  my 
little  high-chair  was  drawn  back  from  the 
table  by  my  mother,  and  I  was  permitted  for 
the  first  time  to  occupy  what  I  called  a  'grown 
person's'  chair — the  same  in  which  you  now 
sit,"  addressing  Ralph.  "1  know  it  by  the 

[30] 


STELLA 

arm.  How  lost  I  felt  in  it!  Daughter  has 
sometimes  desired  more  modern  furniture, 
but  I  could  not  part  with  what  we  have  had 
so  long." 

"Since  I  have  grown  older,"  said  Stella, 
"I  should  not  wish  to  change  it." 

"In  those  days,"  continued  the  father, 
"where  I  am  seated  my  grandfather  sat — an 
aged  man,  his  staff  by  his  side.  I  remember 
another  Sunday,  a  little  later,  when  I  was 
lifted  up  to  look  upon  him  for  the  last  time. 
I  see  the  white,  peaceful  face  and  the  flowers, 
now.  It  seems  not  long  ago — yet  the  time  has 
almost  come  when  I  shall  lie  as  he  lay  then." 

"Father,"  murmured  a  tremulous  voice, 
"you  know  there  is  one  whose  heart  it  breaks 
to  hear  you  speak  so." 

"Yes,  yes,  my  child,  but  I  do  not  speak 
repiningly.  An  old  man  lives  in  the  past,  and 
when,  at  times  like  this,  the  dear  faces  come 

[31] 


STELLA 

flitting  out  of  it  and  vanish  again,  I  long  to 
follow  them — but  for  you." 

"You  must  be  more  cheerful,  father,"  said 
Stella. 

"I  am  quite  cheerful,"  was  the  reply. 
"These  memories  are  sweet  to  me.  Some 
times  my  thoughts  ramble  aloud,  but  I  should 
be  the  last  to  cast  a  shadow  on  you." 

"You  do,"  said  Stella,  "when  you  talk  of 
leaving  me.  When  you  go,  I  want  to  go,  too." 

As  they  chatted  in  the  parlor  after  tea, 
Ralph  remarked: 

"  I  see  that  your  attachment  to  the  old  times 
has  not  extended  to  your  piano,"  surveying  a 
fine  specimen  with  interest. 

"We  must  be  modern  in  that,"  said  the 
father.  "Daughter  plays,  but  I  presume  she 
feels  diffident  in  the  presence  of  talent  like 
yours.  Perhaps  you  will  favor  us." 

"With    pleasure,"    said    Ralph.      "Unfor- 

[32] 


BEAUTIFUL!  BEAUTIFUL!"  EXCLAIMED  THE  HOST 


STELLA 

tunately,  music  is  my  only  accomplishment." 

He  rendered  sacred  selections. 

"Beautiful!  beautiful!"  exclaimed  the  host. 
"Heavenward  your  music  lifts  its  wings.  It 
carries  one  away." 

Later,  Stella  said  to  Ralph: 

"Will  you  not  come  another  evening  and 
sing  one  of  your  own  songs?"  And  when  the 
young  man  bade  them  good-night,  her  last 
words,  spoken  smilingly,  were  :  "  How  fortu 
nate  that  Bess  lost  her  shoe!" 

As  Ralph  wound  his  way  through  the 
ancient  pines,  a  gentler  light  gleamed  for  him 
than  any  the  rising  moon  rayed  on  his  path. 

Stella  sat  at  the  window,  listening  to  a  whip- 
poorwill,  and  wondering  if  the  departed  visi 
tor  were  fond  of  the  bird,  and  if,  like  herself, 
he  could  imitate  its  voice  and  coax  it  near. 
She  wondered  if  the  farmer  driving  by  would 
overtake  and  hail  the  recent  guest.  All  night 

[33] 


STELLA 

the  girl  dreamed  of  music.  Awaking  sud 
denly  toward  morning,  she  found  herself 
sitting  upright,  listening  eagerly 


Months  elapsed.  Stella  had  seen  much  of 
the  organist,  his  history  learning  long  ago. 

Without  brother  or  sister,  a  rich  man's  son, 
Ralph  had  passed  his  earlier  days  in  the  busy 
town.  Unhampered  by  necessity  of  work,  the 
young  man,  until  well  nigh  the  age  of  major 
ity,  luxuriously  had  yielded  himself  up  to  a 
love  of  music.  One  day  the  rich  father  died — 

-* 

bankrupt.     A  pampered  mother  quickly  fol 
lowed. 

The  hitherto  bland  face  of  the  world  wore 
a  frown  when  Ralph,  penniless,  stepped  for 
ward  to  earn  bread.  Music  was  his  resource. 
He  secured  a  position  in  a  city  church,  as 

[34] 


STELLA 

organist.  But  Ralph  had  always  taken  wine. 
The  downfall  of  his  prospects  proved  a  crush 
ing  blow.  Ralph  turned  to  the  cup  as  never 
before.  The  church  position  slipped  from 
him.  He  found  another  which  failed  him, 
too.  Obtaining  employment  grew  difficult. 
Now  Ralph  craved  a  constant  stimulant  as  he 
went  steadily  down  the  hill. 

One  night  the  young  man,  supperless  and 
despondent,  entered  a  notorious  resort. 
Around  numerous  drinking  tables  were  crowd 
ed  abandoned  characters,  men  and  women. 
Ralph  called  for  wine.  Thrusting  his  hand 
into  his  pocket  he  found  it  empty.  The  floor 
was  thronged  with  dissolute  couples  dancing 
to  an  indifferent  piano  accompaniment.  In 
his  extremity,  Ralph  exclaimed: 

"I  will  play  for  the  price  of  the  wine." 
The  musical  instrument  was  not  a  bad  one. 
As  the  young  man  seated  himself  before  it 

[35] 


STELLA 

the  spirituous  fire  mounted  to  his  brain.  He 
swept  the  keys.  Never  had  he  performed 
more  brilliantly.  They  said,  one  to  another: 

"Hear  him  play!" 

Doubly  exhilarated  by  the  applause,  the 
musician  exclaimed : 

"Shall  I  sing?" 

"Yes!  yes!"  was  the  cry. 

He  sang — a  little  pathetic  song — the  last 
words  to  a  mother  of  her  dying  child. 

A  change  crept  through  that  riotous  hall. 
The  leer  deserted  the  eyes  of  some;  the  oath 
was  mute  on  the  lips  of  others;  the  sound  of 
revelry  ceased.  Over  the  hard  visages  a  soft 
ened  expression  stole.  A  strange  chord  the 
songster  had  struck  in  those  sullied  breasts. 
They  listened  to  the  end,  and  as  the  musician 
made  his  way  to  the  street,  a  hush  prevailed 
in  the  room.  But  the  pitiful  adventure  fol 
lowed  Ralph  home.  The  tale  reached  old 

[361 


AT  HER  MOTHER  S  GRAVE 


STELLA 

acquaintances.  Stung  in  pride,  Ralph  re 
solved  to  escape  from  the  scenes  and  reminders 
of  bygone  days,  and  though  never  so  humbly, 
to  begin  anew.  He  accepted  the  position  at 
the  rural  chapel.  Thus  had  begun  his  new 
life. 


Winter  had  flown.  The  balmy  days  in 
May  had  come,  with  buds  unfolding  every 
where.  Again  it  was  Sunday — the  shadows 
lengthened,  the  sky  resplendent  in  the  west. 

Stella  sat  with  Ralph  in  the  burial  ground, 
at  her  mother's  grave,  now  redolent  of  lilies 
watered  by  a  daughter's  own  unwearied  hand. 

"In  these  spring  days  life  seems  all  before 
one,"  said  Stella.  "So  once  it  seemed  to 
mother,  I  often  fancy,  when  I  gaze  upon  her 
faultless  features,  lifelike  in  their  picture- 

[37] 


STELLA 

frame ;  yet  at  just  my  age  she  was  laid  to  rest 
where  she  is  sleeping  now.  But  I  never  think 
of  her  as  here,  even  beneath  the  flowers,  but 
always  as  above,  in  some  bright  place,  like 
yonder  sunset." 

Stella  thought  of  the  days  when,  only  a 
little  blithesome  child,  skipping  at  her  father's 
side,  she  had  sprinkled  violets  all  over  the 
grave,  and  lifting  up  to  the  sky  large  dreamy 
eyes,  even  softer  than  the  flowers,  had  said, 
so  childishly  and  trustingly:  "Mamma  is 
looking  down,  and  loves  the  flowers — the 
pretty,  pretty  flowers." 

"This  is  the  happiest  springtime  I  have 
ever  known,"  said  Ralph.  "I  owe  it  all  to 
you.  Indeed,  I  did  not  suppose  the  world 
could  be  so  bright.  When  I  think  of  the  sun 
shine  you  have  shed  upon  my  path,  of  the  kind 
words  and  the  companionship,  I  cannot  be 
grateful  enough." 

[38] 


STELLA 

"I  owe  no  less  to  you,"  said  Stella. 

"So  different  has  life  seemed  since  first  I 
met  you,"  said  Ralph,  "so  changed  in  all  its 
aspect,  that  if  I  should  lose  your  friendship  I 
could  not  wish  to  live.  Stella,  at  your  mother's 
grave,  shall  you  be  angry  if  I  ask — May  I  not 
always  be  with  you?" 

As  she  listened,  long  drooping  lashes  veiled 
the  girl's  lustrous  eyes.  A  moment  Stella 
was  silent.  Then,  lifting  a  guileless  face  to 
Ralph: 

"You  make  me  glad,"  she  said.  "The 
hours  we  have  passed  together  have  been  to 
me  golden  hours.  I  have  treasured  them, 
every  one.  The  thought  of  parting  would 
make  me  sad.  If  you  love  me  I  shall  be 
only  too  happy  to  have  you  always  with  me." 

Arm  in  arm,  they  sauntered  homeward.  The 
next  Sunday  they  revisited  the  spot  and 
renewed  their  vows.  Many  other  strolls  the 

[39] 


STELLA 

lovers  took  while  Nature  still  held  her  fresh 
ness  of  color  and  mildness  of  mood.  The 
verdure  seemed  to  linger  especially  for  them. 
Their  walk  often  lay  among  Stella's  acquain 
tances  of  the  poor. 

"For  the  fairest  June,"  the  girl  would 
sometimes  say,  "must  pass  into  December. 
There  is  no  lasting  delight  but  that  of  doing 
good." 

Ralph  soon  became  interested  in  his  sweet 
heart's  poor,  discovering  a  secret  of  happiness 
he  had  not  known.  It  cleared  the  sky  of  the 
future ;  for  Stella  and  Ralph  had  discussed  in 
uncertainty  the  days  to  come. 

Ralph  determined  to  prepare  for  the  medi 
cal  profession.  A  field  of  usefulness  was  right 
at  hand;  for  since  the  days  of  the  kindly  old 
man  who  had  ushered  Stella  into  the  world, 
there  had  been  no  trained  physician  in  that 
neighborhood. 

[40] 


STELLA 

Stella  easily  enlisted  her  father's  interest, 
receiving  his  willing  permission  to  defray  the 
expense  of  a  medical  education;  for  the  genial 
old  gentleman  had  liked  Ralph. 

So  a  day  came  when  Stella  and  Ralph  took 
a  last  stroll.  It  was  a  late  September  after 
noon.  On  the  morrow  Ralph  was  to  journey 
to  a  distant  town.  They  chose  a  moss-grown 
woodpath,  their  favorite  walk  all  summer. 
But  though  the  crickets  chirped  bravely,  the 
green  was  fading  and  signs  of  decay  were 
everywhere. 

Stella's  voice  was  strangely  still. 

"I  feel  depressed,"  at  length  she  said. 
"Everything  around  seems  sad.  See  that 
crimson  leaf  fluttering  to  the  ground." 

"I  have  not  seen  you  in  this  mood,"  said 
Ralph.  "You  were  always  cheerful." 

"I  had  not  thought,"  said  Stella,  "that 
parting  would  be  so  hard.  How  lonely  the 

[41] 


STELLA 

days  will  seem!  They  will  not  be  the  old  days, 
the  days  before  we  met.  How  happy  I  have 
been!  Ah,  yes,"  she  sighed,  "how  happy  I 
have  been!  But  now  I  see  that  parting  must 
at  some  time  come  to  all — the  final  parting — 
and  when  I  remember  that  for  the  'pure  in 
heart'  love  blossoming  here  will  bloom  un 
dying  in  Eden  above,  I  feel  that  for  the  great 
hereafter  we  should  live.  Oh,  listen!  listen!" 
From  deep  retreats  of  the  sombre  woods,  as 
hand  in  hand,  breathing  whispers  the  lovers 
stood,  the  silver  notes  of  the  tuneful  thrush 
vied  voice  with  voice  in  rich  reply. 


The  weeks  flew  by.  Christmas  was  coming 
with  its  glad  reunions.  A  very  glad  meeting 
was  expected  at  the  farm;  for  the  medical 
student  was  coming  home. 

[42] 


TO  THE  RESCUE 


STELLA 

"He  will  be  here  to-morrow,"  said  Stella. 
All  smiling  she  held  a  letter. 

"I  am  so  happy,  father,"  exclaimed  the 
girl,  throwing  her  arms  around  his  neck;  "so 
happy  I  am  just  a  child  again.  You  must  see 
a  gift  I  have  for  him — a  painting  by  my  own 
hand.  I  wished  it  to  be  something  my  very 
own,  such  a  gift  as  I  always  have  for  you.  But 
you  cannot  see  yours  yet,  father;  not  yours, 
you  know." 

"He  will  be  here  to-morrow,"  mused  Stella, 
looking  out  at  the  flying  snow,  and  a  shadow 
crossed  her  face  as  she  saw  how  dark  the 
clouds  were. 

To-morrow  came — yet  darker  clouds — the 
mountains  foaming  with  billows  of  snow 
lashed  by  an  arctic  gale.  The  day  wore  on. 
Faster  flew  the  fleecy  flakes — more  fiercely 
raged  the  storm.  The  girl  at  the  farm  grew 
agitated. 

[43] 


STELLA 

"He  will  brave  it  all,"  she  moaned.  "He 
will  come  through  the  storm.  He  will  stray 
from  the  path  in  the  blinding  gale." 

Then  a  rare  light  played  in  her  glorious 
eyes,  as  she  thought: 

"But  I  know  the  road's  every  turn." 

The  strong  steed  she  chose  trembled  before 
the  blast,  the  forest  shrieked,  the  eagle 
screamed  in  the  swaying  pine,  but  mounting 
unseen,  with  dauntless  Hero  in  the  lead, 
Stella  rode  to  the  rescue. 

Landmarks  in  disguises,  familiar  objects 
grown  strange;  now  toiling  up  laborious 
height,  now  ploughing  drift  of  ravine,  guided 
rather  by  instinct  than  by  the  slight  hand  on 
the  rein,  sturdy  horse,  bearing  light  burden, 
still  breasted  the  storm.  Neither  beast  nor 
bird  was  abroad  this  day,  but  once  a  distress 
ful  note  rent  the  air,  and  a  dazed  hawk,  wild 
yet  in  the  loneliness,  welcome  stranger,  brushed 

[44] 


STELLA 

with  tired  wing  the  soft  cheek  of  the  rider. 

A  mile,  a  mile,  a  third  long  mile!  No 
glimpse  of  the  face  so  longed  for,  no  glad 
familiar  cry.  The  young  heart  until  now 
buoyed  up  by  hope,  grew  heavy.  "Shall  I 
see  him  again!  Shall  I  see  him  again!"  was 
the  wail  that  wrung  it. 

Suddenly  the  hitherto  mute  St.  Bernard 
lifted  up  his  voice  in  a  loud  bay,  and  with 
frantic  leaps  the  sagacious  creature  forged 
aside  from  the  main  path.  At  this  point, 
back  from  the  road  and  hidden  by  brushwood 
stood  a  deserted  cabin,  where  on  well-remem 
bered  rides  Stella  and  Ralph  had  often  tarried 
to  quaff  the  sparkling  water  of  a  mineral 
spring,  or  to  regale  themselves  with  luscious 
berries.  From  this  direction,  above  the  roar 
of  the  unbridled  blast,  as  if  in  answer  to  the 
cry  of  the  dog,  a  shrill  neigh  rang  out.  A 
few  more  bounds  of  the  great  St.  Bernard,  and 

[45] 


STELLA 

beneath  snowy  roof  of  sheltering  cabin,  the 
panting,  jubilant  dog  licked  the  helpless  hand 
of  the  perishing  one  sought  for. 

Thrilled  with  hope  by  the  frenzied  neigh 
of  mysterious  horse,  the  distraught  rider, 
pressing  on  in  the  wake  of  the  untiring  dog, 
had  urged  to  yet  more  strenuous  action  her 
struggling  steed,  when  louder,  shriller,  closer 
by,  another  and  yet  another  neigh!  Now  a 
sharp  turn  in  the  sinuous  course  of  the  ardu 
ous  way,  and  a  bypath  choked  with  mammoth, 
still  rising  banks  of  snow,  deflected  to  the  door 
of  the  desolate  cabin. 

The  heart  of  the  rescuer  beat  fast  as  along 
this  passage  she  took  her  trend,  and  having 
safely  surmounted  the  perilous  drifts,  the  girl 
drew  rein  in  front  of  a  shed,  under  cover  of 
which  a  horse,  saddled  but  riderless,  fretting 
at  fastenings,  awoke  the  echoes  with  neigh 
after  neigh.  Quickly  beneath  the  welcome 

[46] 


STELLA 

shelter,  and  close  by  the  restive  stranger's 
side,  the  mountain  maiden  secured  her  steed; 
when  forth  from  the  cabin  burst  the  St.  Ber 
nard,  Hero,  then  with  a  melancholy  cry  led 
his  mistress's  steps,  uncertain  with  dread,  to 
the  swinging  door  and  across  the  threshold  of 
the  dreary  hut. 

As  the  burning  eyes  of  the  girl  in  suspense 
pierced  by  degrees  the  doubtful  light  and 
fearfully  scanned  obscure  objects  within,  they 
fell  upon  the  figure  of  the  rough-coated  dog 
in  a  remote  corner  of  the  room,  standing  over 
the  recumbent,  unconscious,  yet  breathing 
form  her  yearning  arms  extended  to  enfold. 
With  conflicting  emotions  of  joy  and  grief,  in 
a  moment  more  a  maiden  kneeling  beside  the 
prostrate  one  detected  rise  and  fall  of  res 
piration. 

Hard  by  the  cabin  logs  of  firewood  had  been 
cleft  and  stacked  for  transportation.  Frag- 

[47] 


STELLA 

ments  yet  remained.  Out  through  the  snow 
to  the  remnants  of  this  pile  repaired  Stella. 
With  dispatch  equal  to  the  emergency,  piece 
by  piece  fuel  was  conveyed  within  the  cabin 
and  heaped  upon  the  frigid  hearthstone. 
Matches  ignited  bits  of  tinder;  the  strong 
wind  in  the  flue  swept  up  the  flames;  and 
presently  the  gruesome  refuge  resounded  with 
the  inspiriting  roar  of  the  wide-mouthed 
chimney.  Then  from  the  near  saddle-pouch 
was  borne  on  feet  with  wings  a  cordial  that 
loving  forethought  had  provided. 

Revived  by  the  potent  draught,  adminis 
tered  by  no  inapt  hand,  the  slumberer  heard 
sound  as  of  music,  mellifluous  sound  of  a 
familiar  voice,  a  voice  of  bygone  happy  days, 
calling : 

"Ralph,  Ralph,  awake,  Ralph!" 
Slowly  the  heavy  eyelids  lifted — a  moment 
only — then  dropped  again.     Once  more  the 

[48] 


X  f-tHljn 


OUT  INTO  SNOW  AND  EACH  OTHER  S  ARMS 


STELLA 

languid  orbs  opened,  and  now,  fixed  on  the 
face  of  the  sweet  deliverer,  kindled  with  a 
joyful  light.  A  willowy  figure,  bending  down, 
touched  with  lips  too  glad  for  utterance  a 
brow;  then  to  the  generous  saddle-pouch  a 
second  time  repairing,  returned  with  nour 
ishment. 

By  the  friendly  offices  of  fire  and  food, 
Stella  had  thought  to  reseat  in  saddle  the 
exhausted  one,  and  by  his  side,  supporting, 
safely  to  reach  the  harbor-home.  But  courage 
forsook  when  he,  to  whom  her  heartstrings 
clung,  though  cheered  by  the  sound  of  her 
hopeful  voice  and  soothed  by  the  touch  of  the 
dear  one's  hand,  yet  strove  in  vain  to  rise. 
Then,  as  the  shooting  flames  wearied  of  sport 
and  dismembered  firebrands  shrivelled  away, 
between  welfare  of  sweetheart  and  thought  of 
self,  Ralph  hesitated  not.  With  supreme 
effort,  seizing  the  precious,  promised  hand: 

[49] 


STELLA 

"Fly,  sweetheart!"  he  gasped,  "while  yet 
you  may.  For  me,  it  is  too  late.  Fly!  fly! 
away!  away!" 

But  his  companion  in  distress  heeded  not. 
Torn  with  anguish,  her  spirit  was  lifted  above 
the  clouds  in  speechless  supplication.  Now  a 
calm  overspread  the  girl's  agony  of  face,  and 
from  lips  without  tremor  fell  the  resolute 
words:  "For  better  or  worse  our  lots  are  one." 

Supply  of  fuel  at  length  exhausted,  the 
last  of  the  logs  was  reduced  to  embers,  the 
dwindled  coals  were  growing  gray;  but  while 
the  voice  of  the  chimney  had  steadily  abated, 
that  of  the  elements  waxed  ever  more  strong, 
as  faster  and  faster  in  rushing  chariot  drove 
the  trumpet-tongued  tempest  his  flying  team. 

Already  dread  nightfall  was  stalking  abroad, 
shrouding  with  sable  the  waste  of  white,  when 
with  the  warning  only  of  a  single  cry,  the  St. 
Bernard  sentinel,  keen  of  ear,  cleared  at  a 

[50] 


STELLA 

bound  the  floor  of  the  cabin,  and  hurling  his 
weight  against  worm-eaten  window-sash  and 
shutter,  was  lost  to  view  in  the  outer  gloom. 
An  icy  draught  flooded  the  refuge — a  well- 
nigh  demented  watcher  sprang  up.  Faint, 
faint,  and  yet  distinct,  on  pinions  of  the  mighty 
wind,  a  song,  a  song!  Ah,  rapturous  song! 
Bells!  bells!  bells! 

"Oh,  thanks  to  God!"  From  a  breaking 
heart  the  words  burst  forth.  Bells!  bells? 
bells!  sleigh  bells! 

******** 

In  the  cheerful  warmth  of  fireside  at  home, 
a  parent  had  remarked  with  grave  concern  the 
absence  strange  of  a  daughter  dear;  then 
with  insight  unerring  had  divined  her  motive 
in  vanishing  thus  as  if  rapt  by  the  storm. 
Wrought  up  to  a  degree  by  the  extremity  of 

[51] 


STELLA 

peril  to  which  his  darling  was  exposed,  in 
the  briefest  time  an  elderly  father  had  manned 
with  a  crew  loyal  and  hardy,  a  huge  covered 
sleigh;  then  with  portable  heater  having 
equipped  the  same,  was  overriding  a  sea  of 
white  rollers,  behind  teams  of  strong  horses 
led  by  the  mate  of  the  invincible  charger  that 
had  borne  the  daughter  of  the  house  away. 

No  doubt  existed  concerning  the  route,  and 
the  rescue  band  pushed  steadily  on,  eagerly 
expectant,  at  each  turn  in  the  road,  of  sighting 
a  steed  doing  battle  with  the  elements  in 
obedience  to  a  mistress's  voice  and  hand. 
But  corners  were  rounded  and  milestones 
passed  by,  yet  no  such  glad  spectpcle  bright 
ened  the  eye.  At  length  the  critical  point  was 
reached  where  the  bypath  ran  to  the  refugees' 
cabin.  But,  unnoticed,  the  spot  was  slipping 
by,  with  no  searchlight  revealing  the  daughter 
so  near,  no  hint  of  her  heartrending  plight; 

[52] 


STELLA 

when  out  of  the  drifts  resounded  a  cry,  and 
shaking  his  tawny  coat,  powdered  with  white, 
sprang  the  life-saver,  Hero. 

The  overjoyed  father  would  have  encircled 
with  arms  the  neck  of  the  dog;  but  barking 
vociferously  and  wheeling  about,  the  animal 
sprang  away;  then,  followed  by  foam-flecked 
horses  and  sleigh,  retraced  the  path  by  which 
he  had  come. 

Through  the  monster  drifts  a  short  dis 
tance  seemed  long,  but  outlying  shed  and 
forsaken  shanty,  with  window  gaping  and 
insecure  door,  were  reached  at  last. 

Bells!  bells!  bells!  Loud  breathing  of 
horses!  Sound  of  men's  voices!  Jingle  of 
bells!  Out  of  sleigh  sprang  a  father!  Out 
of  door  flew  a  daughter!  Out  into  snow  and 
each  other's  arms!  Then  tears  on  smooth 
face  and  tears  on  face  furrowed  commingled, 

[53] 


STELLA 

as,  cheek  pressed  to  cheek,  unrebuked  they 
coursed  down. 


That  night  before  blazing  hearthstone  at 
home,  where  wrathful  voice  of  tempest  with 
out  was  drowned  by  roar  of  fire  within,  a 
father  and  a  daughter  sat.  Dreamily,  in  the 
light  of  the  leaping  flames,  on  a  cushiony 
couch  another  lay  —  one  whom  love  had 
snatched  from  lion's  jaws  as  in  lion's  den  he 
had  lain  that  day.  Now  a  head  crowned  with 
white  and  a  head  with  no  silver  were  bending, 
while  hearts  in  thanksgiving  were  lifted  on 
high. 


Christmas   again,   and  once   again  —  then 

[54] 


"l  COULD  NOT  LEAVE  YOU  LONGER  ALONE ' 


STELLA 

fleeting  months,  till  April  rainbows,  flowers 
of  May  and  month  of  the  bride — June!  Chimes 
of  bells!  bells!  wedding  bells!  Within  the 
walls  of  the  ornate  chapel  a  company  of  well- 
wishers  sat,  awaiting  the  entrance  of  bride  and 
groom.  Presently,  before  the  venerable  pas 
tor  a  youthful  couple  stood.  Could  eye  of 
flesh  discern  a  visitant  from  the  spirit  land, 
perchance  it  would  have  beheld  a  white-winged 
mother,  hovering  near,  with  hand  outstretched 
to  bless  the  bride.  Kisses  for  bride — good 
wishes  for  groom — shower  of  rice,  and  the 
pair  had  flown. 


That  evening  an  elderly  father  sat  in  his 
wonted  chair  at  the  old-fashioned  board, 
spread  to-night  with  every  dainty,  and  decked 
with  blooms  the  choicest  a  daughter  could 

[55] 


STELLA 

command — but  a  face  was  missing.  Delicate 
viands  tempted  not.  Heavy  at  heart,  to  a 
seat  on  the  porch  the  parent  repaired,  where 
the  companionship  of  the  now  absent  one  had 
beguiled  so  many  moonlight  hours,  and  where 
on  only  the  previous  eve,  hand  in  hand  the 
twain  had  sat,  reluctant  even  for  a  season  to 
part.  Fast  flying  hours,  sunset  again,  the 
father  again  at  the  lonely  board. 

Sound  of  wheels  on  the  driveway!  Steps 
on  the  walk!  Two  faces  at  the  door!  Wide 
open  the  arms  of  a  father  flew!  Within  their 
fold  a  daughter  lay. 

"I  could  not  leave  you  longer  alone,"  fell 
accents  sweet  on  the  parent's  ear.  "Last 
night  in  dreams  I  saw  you.  When  the  sun 
was  high  I  sang  the  song: 

'  Home,  sweet  home, 
There  is  no  place  like  home.' ' 

One  white  arm  encircled   the  parent,  the 
[58] 


STELLA 


other  around  the  husband  twined.  Then 
from  the  lips  of  a  father  rose  the  voice  of 
praise : 

"  Thus  far  the  Lord  hath  led  me  on, 

Thus  far  His  power  prolongs  my  days  ; 
And  every  evening  shall  make  known 
Some  fresh  memorial  of  His  grace." 


Tt^'iloHC 


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